


Worship

by Abby_Ebon



Series: Bite Sized Bits of Fic [33]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 21:32:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abby_Ebon/pseuds/Abby_Ebon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock (BBC), John/Sherlock/Lestrade, double penetration</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worship

Sherlock knows his hands are going to bruise John's hips, but he just can't care. He digs his nails into the tender skin, like little teeth, dragging John closer, controlling his every movement. It's Sherlock that's in the submissive pose, but he has all the control here - John's spit slick cock is guided in and out, the full tip dragging along the roof of his mouth, teasing Sherlock's throat - he doesn't gag, even as the head threatens to go down his throat, he swallows as he feels Lestrade jerk in and out, threatening to undo him.

This is about control, Sherlock's control.

Sherlock won't allow himself to harm John, his teeth are pressed by his thin lips making them red and bruised by ill treatment. Saliva covers them, but it's slickness reminds Sherlock of blood. John struggles not to move, not to gasp or beg; not to push Sherlock any further then how far he's willing to go.

In every way that counts, Sherlock is fucking John with his mouth.

Lestrade has free reign where John does not, where Sherlock dares not try with John. Lestrade can be wild and forceful with Sherlock with no consequences that can not be undone. Between them is a companionship that Sherlock had not recognized as significant before John.

Sherlock would not allow Lestrade to touch John; he comes between them, like this, fucked by Lestrade with force and power like some sign from god, fucking John who is willing and noble and everything that Sherlock can not be - but will try to be, for John.

Lestrade grunts, his rough stride (a namesake?) of fucking faltering, halting in halves as he thrusts feebly in and out, seeking and taking and giving, as if Sherlock alone can release to him the truth and orgasm both.

John cries out a warning, for he isn't deaf to Lestrade's rough handling, for all that his eyes are squeezed shut so tightly as he shudders and pants, as if lost in a storm.

Sherlock can not taste him, but he swallows the slick liquid all the same, pleased, as what is within him is - his. Mine, he thinks looking up at John with reverence and awe - as if John is some god some to life from pagan rites. So many think Sherlock the inhuman one, but they do not see what he does - do not know.

John most of all, deserves his worship.


End file.
